Until we're together again
by mak5258
Summary: Hermione thinks Snape is dead only to stumble upon him in her parents' kitchen. Romance ensues. (Yes, it's become kind of an HG/SS trope, but it was a plot-bunny that wouldn't die.) Rated for a bit of swearing and a bit of smut.
1. Chapter 1

"I hate you."

"Wimp."

"I _really_ fucking hate you."

"Oh, for God's sake," she said. "Grow a pair." He glared, she rolled her eyes. "It's almost over. Quit swearing at me."

"I'll fucking swear at you as much as a goddamn like… Bitch."

"Very creative."

"I wish you would stop talking."

"And I wish you could go a week without—"

"It's done now. If I go back, I'm dead."

"Your optimism is positively inspiring," she said.

"Your sarcasm leaves much to be desired."

She pursed her lips at him and removed his foot from the small vat of potion on the floor. He hissed, but didn't so much as twitch his foot. It made her guts churn to think about it—his pain threshold was higher than any she'd encountered, his self-control astounding. She wished he hadn't had to develop either.

The foot, flayed until all the skin had been removed, looked better than it had, though that wasn't saying much. She used a support charm to make it easier for him to hold it out in front of her, and quickly painted on the thick DermiGro (cousin to SkeleGro and most commonly used for skinned knees and the like) with a soft-bristle brush. He closed his eyes and reclined against the wall, breathing on an eight-count through his teeth.

"That's the last time, then?"

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"Lestrange, of course."

"He was your friend."

"He was."

She nodded, and turned her attention to the mess around her. She'd pulled everything out of their first aid kit in her hurry to get him what he needed.

"What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.

"He was your friend. It explains why you're alive."

"He didn't spare me out of some old—"

"No, that's not what I meant," she interrupted, stilling her hands to look up at him. "He was your friend, so your betrayal hurt him. He wanted to hurt you back. He let you live longer than he should've because he wanted you to suffer. You were able to escape."

"That's about the shape of it." He turned his face away, so she went back to her cleaning-up.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dell said you come from Manchester. What do you think of the countryside?"

"It's very nice," Severus said, trying to smile amiably. His nearest neighbors, older Muggles, lived over a small hill with a bit of forest on it. They were nice, and they'd begun stopping by from time to time. He'd decided to make friends. "I lived in the Highlands for most of my adult life, had a break from it, and now it's nice to be back where it's green."

"I know precisely what you mean," Monica said, nodding decisively. "When I was a child, we used to vacation in France or with my cousins in Italy. My husband and I ran our practice in London for a long time, though, and we didn't travel much. When we retired, it was hardly a question of where to do it."

"How did you find this place?"

"Our daughter recommended it, actually. She stumbled across our little village on a business trip. And you?"

The rolling hills and woody grottos were positively overflowing with potions ingredients, which had made it an ideal place to relocate after the war. "I was passing through, but instead of moving along I bought a house."

Monica laughed. Her laugh was more of a cheerful giggle, something that belonged to a much younger woman. It was familiar, too, but he'd yet to be able to place it.

"Well, I'm glad you did."

She was like Minerva McGonagall and Molly Weasley rolled into one. A softhearted intellectual. Fine gray-silver hair pulled back into a utilitarian ponytail, plaid shirt over a white t-shirt, blue jeans. She'd brought along a thermos of tea, a fantastic blend her daughter mixed. She randomly dropped by for tea and talking. Her husband was much the same, favoring the plaid shirts and bringing along something hot to drink.


	3. Chapter 3

"You will meet our daughter eventually," Dell said. This was the third dinner arrangement that was supposed to have included the elusive Hermione Wilkins. She worked at a bank, doing something that seemed to involve long hours and quite a bit of travel. He'd been given her mobile number the same day they'd given him a spare key (just in case); he had half a mind to call her and arrange their dodging between them. It had been abundantly plain that the Wilkinses wanted to set them up, and equally clear that the daughter wanted as little to do with it as he did.

"I'm sure I will."

"You'll get along swimmingly. She almost went into Chemistry, like you."

"You hadn't told me that." Chemistry was the closest to thing to Potions he could use to explain his skill set. He could've said he was an herbalist, but that tended to make Muggles think he spent a lot of time rolling up blends of would-be narcotics scoured from the woods.

"Yes. She was in quite an advanced program, but… Well. Her mentor was murdered. In front of her." Dell looked uncomfortable, and Severus couldn't blame him. "She went into banking after that. We've been hoping she'd… make a few new friends."

"Friends, hm?"

"Friends are a good thing," Dell said, holding up an admonitory finger. It was a strange thing to see; he hadn't had a finger wagged at him since… Dumbledore.

"You sound like your wife," Severus said, trying to cover his own pause.

"What do you mean by that?"

"She's been hinting that she doesn't see me with enough people."

"She picks people, and then she worries about them. It's how I ended up married to her," Dell said, smiling cheerfully. He'd obviously accepted his fate.

Severus wished, for one strange moment, that the Wilkenses had been his parents. He'd have had a much different life. They were good, decent people. They didn't see their daughter much—and they knew for a fact that she was dodging them—but it didn't matter in the least.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks later, he was in their kitchen again. There was fresh stew with chunks of beef and potatoes and carrots. There was hand-made bread, warm and crusty. There was wine. She'd finally run out of excuses, and she was due in five minutes. Unfortunately, her parents had been called away for something or another within moments of his arrival. If he hadn't witnessed their flight from the house himself, he would've thought they'd been set up. (That was inevitable, but the parents had been playing a slow game; it should've been months before they were conveniently left alone together.)

The door opened and shut, letting in a rush of the storm raging outside. He heard her shaking an umbrella, the clack of it against the ceramic umbrella stand.

"Mum? Dad?"

The blood in him froze. He _knew_ that voice. It haunted his dreams, plagued him with guilt.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, off-the-cuff, sounding very young. And happy. She sounded happy. "I just got in from Dovetown. For once, it was pleasure not business, I promise."

Then she was around the corner, and in a blink had her wand in his face. She took half a breath, then flicked her wand and vanished. He felt the tickle of detection charms flickering over him, one after another. She must've been satisfied that he wasn't fraudulent, because she lifted her charm.

Hermione Granger stood before him. Her hair was shorter than he'd seen it, wild curls just brushing the tops of her shoulders.

There was a moment of perfect stillness. He couldn't breathe, and he hated himself for it. It had been years; he'd thought he was over her.

She slapped him. Hard. If he hadn't lived the life he had, he would've stumbled back from her. Instead, he just blinked the reaction tears out of his eyes and continued to look at her.

"You let me think you were dead!"

He remembered her as he'd last seen her. The Death Eaters had almost all been captured; trials were beginning. His had been over for weeks. Her apprenticeship had come to an end merely days before.

She'd been covered in blood; the whites of her eyes had stood out stark in the blood-darkened face. They were in St. Mungo's; he was the one in a bed. She'd destroyed Rabastan Lestrange for putting him in that bed, which was why she was covered in blood. She'd stared at him, wand still clenched in her fist. The Healers had rushed her off to be checked over in that way that they did. The Ministry had faked his death after that, allowing him to slip into anonymity on the condition that he didn't contact anybody, that he lived in safe anonymity.

She threw herself at him, hugging him to her. His hands adjusted of their own volition, scooping her up to kissing-level.


	5. Chapter 5

"Did you know they were my parents?"

"No. I never knew your parents' names, and why are they still using the false surname? I assumed the fact that the elusive daughter's name was the same as yours was some sort of karma," he said, smirking in a bitter sort of way. "I almost called you two weeks ago so that we could coordinate ducking out on these dinners."

"I'm trying to imagine that phone call," she said, grinning at him. The sheets were the same temperature as they were. Everything was soft and warm and lovely, their conversation broken up by lingering kisses. "Your voice on the other end—"

He cut her off with a kiss, tongue probing. He rolled so that he was partially on top of her, the sparse hair on his chest tickling her naked breasts. She pulled him closer, lifted her leg to wrap around his thigh.

He broke the kiss, laughing, and pressed his forehead to the curve of her neck. "What are we going to tell your parents? We didn't even clean anything up. The stew probably congealed in the pot."

"Mum made stew? Wow. She must really like you."

"That will probably change."

"Why should it?"

He ran a long finger down her body, tracing a nipple, following the line of Dolohov's curse scar, sliding between her folds and settling on her clit. She didn't breathe. For a long moment, he didn't move his finger, just stared into her eyes and kept still.

"I was your teacher," he said, his finger beginning to swirl against the sensitive nub. "I'm significantly older than you." His lips trailed across her throat, dragging wet kisses from her jaw to her pulse point. "I was your mentor—and in a field you didn't end up pursuing, I'm told." He withdrew a bit as that thought came to him, propping himself up on one elbow to look down into her face thoughtfully. His finger didn't stop its swirling.

"Don't stop," she gasped, arching into him. "Severus, don't stop!"

"I'm professionally appalled," he informed her. He resumed kissing her, though, sliding down in the bed so that his lips were level with her breasts.

"I couldn't continue with potions," she said, grabbing him by the wrist and keeping his hand where she wanted it. She ground her hips up into his touch, and he grinned against her breast. "Every time I walked into a lab, I missed you."

"So you went into _banking_?" he asked, putting his hands on her hips and putting his chin low on her stomach. He looked up the length of her body at her. His black eyes were dancing.

"Gringotts pays me to rob them," she said, pulling her legs up and rising back on her elbows so that she was looking at him between her knees.

"They what?"

"Security, Severus. I work in banking security. I test different branches' protections and advise them on updates and such. I travel a lot. I get paid a ridiculous amount of money. And I don't have to think about potions, because whenever I do I miss you so badly I end up sleeping off a bender on the sofa in George's office."

"George's…?"

"George Weasley." She lay back so that she wouldn't have to look at him. It was almost embarrassing, telling him to his face that his death had shattered her. She should've been stronger than that. "He borrows my couch from time to time when he gets to thinking about Fred, so it's sort of a symbiotic thing."

He moved, and she thought for one awful instant that she'd upset him, that he was getting up. But he just shifted forward so that he could wrap his arms around her. He rolled them on their sides and squeezed her to him. All she could smell was his skin. It was wonderful.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She sniffed, realizing belatedly that she was crying again.

They'd been doing this in cycles all through the night. Giddy, clingy love-making interspersed with holding and crying and apologizing. And talking to fill in the gaps.

"It was a condition of the deal. They secreted me away, and I didn't contact anybody."

"Not even _me_."

"You were getting hurt, too. I was the focus, but you would've been collateral damage. Or worse, they could've attacked me and you could've died instead."

"So you let me think you were dead!" Rage burned through her like it hadn't since she'd first seen him standing in her parents' kitchen. "You, what, looked in the papers and saw that I wasn't suicidal and decided—"

He cut her off with a kiss again, so she bit him. He growled, rolling them, pinning her to the mattress. She struggled, but he was bigger and she'd learned all of her best defensive moves from him. She writhed, but he maintained the upper hand. She squirmed, tried to get the leverage to buck him off, but he kept her beneath him, held her tighter.

"Dammit, Severus, let me g— _ah_!"

They'd both shifted just so, and the head of his cock had slid between her folds. They both froze, eyes locked.

" _Ah_ ," she breathed again, lifting her hips, watching his eyes flutter closed. He settled into her, slowly, slowly, slowly sinking in. His sack was soft against her oversensitive flesh. His cock was hard inside her, throbbing in time with the heartbeat she could see in his throat.

She lifted her head and kissed the underside of his jaw, the exact spot she'd kissed him the very first time. They hadn't been lovers before, but there had been glances and touches. She'd made a habit of kissing his cheek, but most of the time she hadn't been able to reach his cheek, so she'd kissed him just there on the underside of his jaw.

Severus shuddered. His eyes snapped opened, and he looked at her for a stretch of stillness. Then he was moving, thrusting, pistoning in and out to hit that particular spot inside. The bed was thumping against the wall like a damned cliché, but neither of them gave a Niffler's tit.

They were finally together again.


End file.
